


Stone Wings

by AmethystUnarmed



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Gen, Urban Magic Yogs, angel ross, gargoyle ross - Freeform, pre garbage court
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:18:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5418506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmethystUnarmed/pseuds/AmethystUnarmed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Church had died awhile ago. The angel knew that.<br/>~~~~<br/>An alternate perspective on the origin of the Garbage Court's gargoyle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stone Wings

The Church had died awhile ago. The angel knew that. Though he wasn’t entirely sure when, people had stopped coming. Stopped caring. The grand entry had been padlocked shut. The beautiful stained glass windows had shattered, shards of glass littering the barren aisles. The pews held dust instead of congregations, and the entire structure smelled of mildew and rot.

And still, the angel stood guard. He perched in the rafters, reaching out. His stone wings extended over the remains of the altar like a forgotten blessing. He could only watch as his domain decayed. He often worried that today the roof (which had already given way in so many places) above him would collapse, and he would only be a pile of rubble of the floor. Yet he did not move.

He wasn’t entirely sure he could move anymore. The marble that was once only a facade seemed to have taken a liking to him. The stone had taken up residence in his form, both physical and ethereal. Soon, he knew, this stillness could take him over entirely.

This wasn’t right.

God was meant to call him back. That was what he did when an angel fulfilled his duties. He was called back to heaven to be given a new purpose. That was always how it worked. Was his duty not fulfilled? The Church has ended. What more could he possibly do? A worse thought crept through his mind like poison. What if he had failed entirely? Could this be his punishment? Giving vigilance to a forgotten church, playing gargoyle while the very walls he was meant to protect crumbled around him? Until he, too, was a broken pile of debris lost under the condemned sky?

For the first time in eons, the angel was afraid. So he responded the only way he knew how. He bowed his head (ignoring the spiderweb cracks he could feel running down his spine), closed his eyes, and prayed.

 _Father_ , he thought, _Father, please answer me._

There was no response.

 _Please!_ He cried out, years of desperation welling in his pleas, _I don’t know what I’m meant to do!_ He wanted to bite his lip, but he feared it’d break off. _If I failed you, I’m sorry. I beg your forgiveness._ He let out a sigh, dirt and cobwebs spilling from his throat. _Father, I am losing faith. I feel forgotten, unwanted in your eyes. I am not the greatest of angels, there are many more powerful than I... But, dear Father, do not forsake me._

_I love you._

He received only silence in return. The angel bit back a sob. He knew his Creator to be just and kind, only giving punishment when necessary. He must deserve this. With resigned sadness, the angel spoke for the first time in centuries.

“Not my will but yours be done”

A pure tear dripped from a stone eye and splattered on the floor.

Without warning, a great wind swept through the church. Dust and dry leaves took flight in a whirlwind around the angel, dancing in the air. The angel’s eyes snapped open, illuminated with golden light.

Images began to fill his head. A tall man with pale skin and wild red hair. With a scruffy beard and mischievous eyes, he appeared to be a kind of mountain man. He twirled a silver key ring around his finger. Then another man, this one shorter, but more serious, even regal. He was older too. The angel could feel the ancient magic around him. He had straight brown hair, long enough to drape his eyebrows, and a smile that won the angel’s heart.

As soon as it had come, the vision left. The wind died and the gargoyle’s eyes turned to their usual grey-blue. The building settled, once again returning to the way it was before, besides the slight smile on its gargoyle’s face. He knew his purpose.

So when a ginger man entered many years later, matches in one hand, a can of gasoline in the other, Ross knew he would follow him to the ends of the earth.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was on retreat the last three days, and while I was there, this idea popped into my head. Ross is a creature of religious magic so I figured he'd talk to God and... I'm a sucker for angels.
> 
> I know this isn't what I promised but hey, you all said garbage court and this is close enough. Right?
> 
> I dunno. Anyways, I probably won't publish anything for a bit. I'm writing a show that I need to finish for a competition and I also am finishing a fic for a friend. Speaking of, anyone want to beta that? I want it to be perfect so... Please help. Much love and if I'm not back by then, merry christmas.
> 
> Amethyst


End file.
